


Celebration

by Davechicken



Series: The Pilot and his Dark Knight [5]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 07:49:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6229924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a big victory, Poe and Kylo sneak off to celebrate in their own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Celebration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



It’s the night after one hell of a day. A serious win for the Resistance, a massive leap forwards against the First Order. Everyone on the base is elated, and it’s hard not to be caught up in that. A culmination of everything they’ve spent two months working for, and celebrations have long been overdue. All through the back-clapping and hugging and cheering and other things, Kylo finds himself following the crowd’s emotional reaction. It’s overwhelmingly good, and eventually it starts to make him tired.

Being around heightened emotion is difficult for him, makes his own self-control harder to keep in check. Normally he has to shy away from excessive negativity, so it’s strange to think that people could be _too_ happy for him to be around. Or… not _too_ happy. It’s just that he’s at risk of going _too_ high, and he needs to be somewhere quiet. Still happy, just quiet. 

Poe is suffering someone’s forcible head-rubs, messing up his hair, and mauling his shoulder, too. Kylo watches with a little sting that isn’t quite jealousy, because he knows Poe is his, now. But it’s a bitter-sweet taste in his mouth. Poe is so beloved, and Kylo… Kylo is beginning to realise that his connections to his friends and colleagues don’t _lessen_ theirs. He’s even been clapped on the shoulder and elbow a few times, too. People touch him less, which is good, but he still enjoys being involved. 

It’s easier, day by day, to be part of this. Any doubts he has in the dark of night, when everyone else is asleep, about how he might _fall_ again, or how the rug will be pulled from under his feet and they’ll remember he should be put on **trial** for his sins… these are washed away when he walks to the mess and people say _hello_  and ask how he is. When the few small children still around the base run up and shyly ask him to do ‘Jedi’ tricks, and no parent pulls them away with fear in their eyes. When Snap invites them _both_ over for dinner. It’s… it’s right. This is right. He’s where he should always have been.

But now he’s tired, and Poe sees his slightly-worn-out smile and their eyes meet. Poe always knows how to read the holo that is Kylo Ren, and they share a private smile. 

Kylo needs to unwind from all the fighting, from the rejoicing, and Poe - still power-high from his successful flying mission - will also enjoy it. Kylo calms down when they engage in more… unconventional loveplay. And Poe always seems to enjoy himself, probably because he knows how much Kylo appreciates it. Poe gets off on causing so much pleasure and helping him, and Kylo wonders if having a Fallen Jedi literally worship the ground he flies over is something of an ego-trip, too. An ego-trip that never goes to his head, because Poe doesn’t rule for the sake of ruling. He rules for the sake of the ruled, and that’s why Kylo willingly gives him _everything_. It works - for both of them.

***

Back in their quarters, the minute the door closes behind them, Kylo turns expectantly. Their relationship isn’t always one of power-exchange, so there’s times when things need negotiating, or they need to discuss things before proceeding. There’s also times when one or the other of them _needs_ things so much that they fall into place around one another. Kylo _needs_ , but he also needs to make sure Poe really does want–

–just one look. One look into his eyes, and he can see the drunken _glee_ shining there. Poe was magnificent, even for him, on the field of battle today. The kind of magnificent that goes down in the history books. Poe is **overjoyed** , and full of victory, and Kylo sinks to his knees in respect. He fought hard, too, but he has no desire to continue to fight. Not really, not here. He looks up with a smile of his own, and the hand on his cheek burns wonderfully warm against his skin.

“You were wonderful,” Kylo tells him, eyes shining.   


“So were you,” Poe says, and his hand slides into his hair. “We should celebrate in our own way.”  


“ _Please, Master_.”  


Kylo never hesitates to use that term, because it’s true. Poe, more than anyone else, is who he trusts to look out for him. No matter what. No matter _what_. Poe is someone you can surrender everything to, and know it will be fine, in the end. Know that _you_ will be fine.

***

Poe orders him to strip, and clean himself. Kylo does so, taking care to do it efficiently, but to offer a show. Poe sits on the bed, watching him. He’s still in his jumpsuit, and once upon a time, Kylo would have hated that. A different him, a different _them_. Poe sits on the edge of the bed, and Kylo places his clothes to one side. He walks into the ‘fresher, and grabs the washcloth. He keeps his eyes down, knowing Poe is watching him wash the sweat and battle from his skin. It makes everything flush with pleasure, and his cock starts to harden further. He ignores it as much as possible (it’s for Poe, not for him), and swipes warm water everywhere he can reach. When it comes to cleaning his genitals, he looks up for permission, first. After the small nod, he swipes there clean with minimal contact. Turns, and cleans between his butt-cheeks, too. Washes hard, and bites his lip at the sensations. 

He has no idea what Poe will want to do to him, so he has to be prepared for everything. A single finger inside, and he also grabs the showerhead. A brief, high-pressure stream of water that dribbles down his legs. He grabs a towel and dries that out, and then pats himself from head to toe.

When he’s done, he sees Poe stand, and Kylo walks back and drops to his knee in front of him. A Knight’s kneel, before his General. Before his _Leader_ , his **Master**. The hand stroking through his hair is soft, and loving, and Kylo melts into the touch, the compassion. 

“I want to try something a little different, tonight, pet.”  


“Yes, Master?” Curiosity, but not fear. Anticipation like the height of a ship’s parabola, just before it goes into free-fall, nose-dive.   


“Get out the red box.”  


The red box? They have a red box, now? Kylo drops onto hands and knees and crawls the few steps to where they keep their supplies, under the bed. Sure enough, a red box on castors is now there, too. He wheels it out, and brings it to Poe’s side. He settles back on his knees, and when Poe indicates he’s to open it, he does.

Inside is a plethora of restraints. There’s rope, of course. Collar, cuffs… ankle-cuffs… an interesting leather harness affair, rings, carabiners, ropes… basically it’s one big bag of things to tie him up in. Some of them are familiar, but there’s definitely a bigger collection, now. Poe is watching his response, and Kylo feels his mouth go dry. He **wants it** , so badly. 

The restraints don’t really _stop_ him, but they certainly make staying still easier. Kylo looks up, so very hungry for it. 

“You ready, pet?”  


“ _Yes_ ,” he breathes. “Yes, Sir. Yes.”  


A finger crooks, and Kylo leaps to his feet. At the gesture, he offers his wrists. Broad, black leather cuffs which are trimmed with a deep blood-orange are buckled into place. A finger wiggled under to check for space, and give, and then Kylo lifts both of his ankles in turn. What he really wants is what comes next, and he ducks his head obediently to feel the collar put into… wait, what?

Something else goes over his head, and Kylo almost baulks. It slips over his head, over his eyes, and stops at the bridge of his nose. His eyes blink sightlessly under the hawk-like mask, confused. Poe’s used blindfolds before, but nothing like this. 

“You okay?” his Master asks.  


Kylo swallows, and gets a feel for it. It takes his sight away the same as the other, and isn’t much more restrictive, but the psychology behind it is so much more intense. He breathes deeply, lashes catching on the leather, and then he nods. “Yes. Yes. I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” Poe says, and the straps are fastened under his jaw. It’s like a pilot’s helmet, without visibility through the visor, and made only of leather.   


It’s absolutely bizarre. He can’t see a thing, and although he can feel through the Force, it isn’t the same. He has no idea what’s coming next, and that’s terrifying and wonderful. When something else moves around his head, he nearly jumps in shock. A hand prises his mouth open, pressing at his jaw-joint until he obliges, and then there’s something metal and round in his mouth. He has to stretch his jaw a little to bite down on it, and then he realises he won’t be able to close his mouth for the forseeable, with this in place. He can breathe around it, of course, and his tongue lolls slightly against the circle as he tries to get comfortable around the strange bit-piece. It’s also fixed off with a strap behind his head. He swallows, and his mouth feels wet, and he’s sure he’s going to end up awkwardly drooling and looking a mess. Kylo wonders why Poe wants it, and if it’s just for the additional control, or to keep his hole ready, or because he wants to humiliate him. Or a mixture of the three. Kylo is still working that out when the collar goes around his neck and the world just

 _STOPS_.

Stops. The familiar, welcoming constriction. The way breathing becomes obvious again: every draw in making his skin tingle under leather, every turn of his head a noise in the silence of the air. A pact, a promise between them. His loyalty and obedience, Poe’s love and care. He moans, softly, the sound mangled through his forced-open mouth, and a hand on his shoulder is unexpected, but good.

“You’re doing so well, pet. Now, you know how to tell me to stop?”  


Kylo does, but he’d probably sooner have his arm or leg ripped off before he safeworded out of anything. Limbs can be re-attached, or made out of bionics. Only the knowledge that Poe would then cease to do this with him keeps him from really going too far, though. He nods, and then more leather goes around his chest. It’s quicker than ropes, less flexible, less… _stringent_ on his skin, but it still makes him feel comforted and secure. The harness cinches around, and breathing becomes more obvious all the way down to his diaphragm. He’s not sure how much longer he can stay upright, and when Poe whispers at him to get onto the bed, he’s happy to oblige.

He kneels, half-way up, and when the hand on his spine urges him, he walks higher. Walks higher, and then he’s being pushed over, and he doesn’t even catch his fall. He doesn’t think to, his face landing in a pillow. His hands are pulled up over his head, and there’s a familiar _clink_ as carabiners lock into place. His wrists are elevated, and he knows that means his shoulders will ache from this, before long. Poe’s hands guide him into place, and he’s on his knees - bent under him, supporting his torso - with his ass presented for the whole world.

For Poe. It’s the same thing.

There’s a sound of something sturdy, and then there’s a pole hitting the bed between his legs. A spreader bar, which his ankles are then cuffed to. He’s not going to be able to spread, or close his legs, now. He’s stuck in this position, barring a complete revolution. His fingers turn, finding the links of chain (looped around the headboard) and tangling in it for something to use as purchase. He pants, his mind so far under already that it’s bliss. 

There’s a sudden warmth between his legs, and Kylo groans as Poe’s hand wraps around his full cock. Lazy, lazy strokes that he wants to rut into, but he can’t. Won’t. He knows it’s just a precursor to what comes next, and the stimulation is just a pleasant warm-up. He closes sightless eyes, trying to memorise every flicker of sensation. The rub of a joystick-callused thumb, trigger-worn, over the head of his prick. The almost-tickle as he scrunches against his balls. The heavy way his balls sway when they’re released. He’s going to come so hard if Poe lets him. Poe _normally_ lets him. Sometimes he either makes him wait, or tells him **no**.

(But only because Kylo asked him to. He told him that - sometimes - he wanted to know he had to wait. Poe had nodded, agreed, and now Kylo was never sure if he would get to climax or not. And if he didn’t - and it happened in the night, out of his control - Poe would punish him. And he liked _that_ , too.)

Poe only slides on a simple ring, this time. Kylo can normally control his bodily reactions enough, but it’s a relief not to hold back his arousal. The cockring keeps him from firing too soon, and makes his shaft even harder, his balls even bluer. He can’t rub into the bed, so it bobs aimlessly under him, and he moans again, a begging for more. 

“Such a good pet,” Poe tells him, and his fingers then move to trace over his skin. Over the skin, where it meets leather. Where pale white-pink marks will fade slowly, afterwards. Where everything is so bright and also far away. He wants to just float on the sensation, and live here forever. It doesn’t even matter that he’s aroused, it’s more about this sure, even, level place.   


Kylo loves it here. He loves the darker, deeper, out-of-his-head place, too, but here he can be conscious of his unconsciousness, and that’s so damn special. 

Poe kisses the back of his neck. “I didn’t think you needed it _this_  much. I thought we agreed you’d tell me?”

Kylo tries to reply, but without his lips, it comes out mangled. “Gmwwi gifn’t.” I didn’t. “Ghuss ghugay.” Just today. 

“Alright. Do you need pain, too?”  


Kylo will normally _take_  pain, whenever it’s offered, but he definitely doesn’t **need** it, every time. Not any more. He knows Poe has a mixed relationship with administering it, knows Poe is torn between pleasing him and also worried (sometimes) about how far they go, so he shakes his head. “Ghot ghugay.” Not today.

“Okay, baby.”   


Kylo had been confused the first time Poe slipped in a pet name for him. It had been so counter to his own mental picture of himself, that he’d been dragged right out of the scene. Now, though, he didn’t blink if he was called babe, baby, sweetie… or anything Poe might throw at him. Sometimes he thinks Poe does it deliberately, to make him blush, and that thought makes him happy, too. 

“I’ll make you feel good.”  


Kylo doesn’t doubt it. There’s the sound of another box wheeling out, and then a rustling as Poe picks out some toy or instrument or another. If it’s not pain he wants, there’s still plenty of other things he can do with a bound Knight. He swallows against another rush of saliva, and offers his ass and thighs all over again. He’s rewarded by a sudden squirt of nicely-fragrant lube (Poe is a hedonist) and then there’s a familiar press of something firm between his legs. Kylo can’t do much to move, but he does what he can, and gurgles in delight as the toy is pushed deeper in with each gesture from Poe. He twists and turns it on the way in and out, and Kylo’s already so relaxed that there’s no real resistance, just enough to make it feel good. He holds the chains tighter, and blinks some more, rocking until the dildo is going so deep in that Poe’s fingers hit his ass. It’s wide, but Poe is sensible, and Kylo doesn’t feel at all uncomfortable. It spreads slowly from tip to base, and makes his gut clench nicely. A finger snicks over a control, and then it starts to pulse inside of him, and Kylo _purrs_ , or as close as he can with the gag. So it’s more like a _prraaghhhh_. 

Poe laughs, and brushes Kylo’s hair, where it emerges from under the straps. “Good, pet?”

Kylo nods vigorously. He’s floating, lost on a cloud of sensation. The only thing missing is his Master. He turns his head to where he thinks Poe’s face will be, and it’s hard to communicate with your eyes covered and your mouth in a rictus, but he does, all the same.

“Do you want something, pet?”  


“Ghhessss.” Yes. “Pheaaze.”   


“What do you want?”  


“Ghhou?”  


“Me?”  


“ _Ghhhhessssss pheaaze_.”  


Poe moves, and Kylo can feel how he’s reaching to keep that vibrator pressed inside of him. He’s no longer moving it in and out, but that doesn’t matter. It thrums through him all the way up into his ribcage, and his legs twitch in pleasant constriction. He wants to move, but also to stay still. Another moan, at the perfect bliss of it, then there’s a hand at the back of his head, guiding his face under his uplifted arm. He didn’t hear Poe moving fabric out of the way, so the sudden painting of his cock around his spread lips is a welcome surprise. He lolls his tongue out hopefully, and is rewarded by shallow thrusts over it. 

“Keep the toy in you, babe,” Poe orders, and Kylo tries to tighten his ass about it. He can’t clamp his thighs shut, and the internal sensation makes the vibrations travel **harder**. He moans, and then there’s sliding over his tongue, into his open mouth.   


Kylo breathes through his nose as Poe slowly takes his face, rides him with care and attention. Kylo has nothing to do but breathe and enjoy it, enjoy the tang and the taste of battle, enjoy the abuse of his throat, the way it fills him up and steals away air. His nostrils flare awkwardly, and his jaw begins to ache from the stretch. The toy nearly squeezes out, and then Poe reaches behind him and slams it all the way back in.

It catches at just the right angle, and Kylo chokes on Poe’s dick, seeing stars as the toy hammers his prostate over and over. It’s too much, and he’s yanking at the cuffs and chains, bucking with that little freedom he has… until a hand on the back of his neck pushes him downdowndowndown **down**  on Poe’s dick.

Darkness. On all sides. In his mind, in his eyes. In his body, deep inside. In his mouth, in his throat. A breathlessness, a sensation of _drowning_ , but good. Of being nothing that Poe doesn’t want, and he _snaps_ and everything **gives** and it’s only instinct that has him swallowing when Poe comes in his mouth. Only instinct that keeps him alive as he gulps him down, and savages in breath when the intrusion is removed with a slick sound. His mouth filled with salt, his head filled with Poe. 

His hips jerk helplessly, around the torturebliss of the toy, and then Poe flicks the switch harder, and it’s back to inoutinoutinout and Kylo’s broken voice _howls and howls and howls_ until he’s dizzier **still** , and he can’t even beg for the release he so sorely needs. He just _takes it all_ , and when the cockring snap is broken, when his climax hits (without verbal permission), it’s like the world is **RIGHT**. He spills all over the bed, and the toy keeps moving until he starts to cry, under the mask. His tears are trapped, and he coughs around the gag, and Poe doesn’t let him escape immediately.

He leaves Kylo in that middle place, in that outofhishead place, for what feels like an eternity. Then - only when it’s all gone on for five years too long - the straps start to unfasten. The toy is unmoving inside him, still, now. The vibration turned off, and just that pleasant fullness. The carabiners at his wrists go, and he drops down, face-first, into the pillow. His still-cuffed hands fall, too, and it changes the angle of his hips and means the hand holding the vibrator inside him alters the angle significantly. He keens, sloppy and tasting of come, and nestles into the pillowy mess. The next is the harness around his chest, which he’d almost forgotten was there. When it unfastens, he can breathe deeper. It’s tossed to one side, and then Poe works on the gag.

He’s glad to be free of that, though. Much as it is fun, it makes things harder. When it’s off, he doesn’t fully close his mouth, but close. He gently rotates his jaw, and sighs in bliss. The hood, next. His eyes stay closed, not ready to look at the world just yet. He can still feel every line of restraint on him, long after they’re removed.

Next the spreader bar, and then he’s rolled over. He ends up lying on one side, knees together and bent, toy still nestled in his ass. He likes it there, but wishes it were Poe’s cock instead. Poe moves to lie facing him, and pulls Kylo - still in cuffs and collar - into a lazy, languid hug. Kylo smiles at the kisses, but he’s too gone to reciprocate. Not yet, anyway. 

He knows Poe won’t mind. He knows.

The itching need is gone, washed out, replaced with Poe’s caring touch. 

When he feels awake again, he knows he’s going to make it up to his Master any way he can. He owes him that, even if Poe will tell him he doesn’t.

They owe it to one another. 


End file.
